


Vampires Don't Wear Chinos

by gimmefire



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Costumes, Halloween, M/M, Roleplay, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cal is determined to ask absolutely everyone at the party who would win in a fight between a werewolf and a vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vampires Don't Wear Chinos

**Author's Note:**

> MAYBE my favourite fic title ever. Belated Hallowe'enery for A CERTAIN SOMEONE and the [motorskink](http://motorskink.livejournal.com/) [prompt](http://motorskink.livejournal.com/2822.html?thread=774918#t774918) for, er, Hallowe'enery.

Cal is determined to ask absolutely everyone at the party who would win in a fight between a werewolf and a vampire. If the answers weren't already going his way, Matt would guess he'd go out into the street and ask strangers as well. And he isn't even drunk.  
  
"Where are your teeth?" Matt asks, doing his best to distract Cal from his quest.  
  
"In my mouth, Matt. Where teeth normally are."  
  
Matt sighs a little, knowing that he didn't need to explain, but would have to anyway. "Your werewolf teeth."  
  
Cal grins. "They were ruining my good looks."  
  
"Really? I thought they were an improvement," Matt says casually into his wine glass.  
  
Cal doesn't make eye contact, gaze darting away around the room. "Oh yeah, right, that coming from the ponciest fucking vampire I've ever seen."  
  
Matt laughs a little too loudly at that, and blushes for good measure. Fortunately the white face paint he's slathered in means Cal doesn't see; the only redness visible on his face are the two neat trails of fake blood descending from each corner of his mouth. He is a very _neat_ vampire. He's even ironed his cape.  
  
The same can't be said for Cal. His hair isn't long enough for the full effect, but his fake fur eyebrows and sideburns that don't quite stick correctly to his bearded cheeks go some way to make up for it. He has ripped his shirt, not in a cut-triangle-shapes-along-the-hem way, but really ripped holes it. (Matt enjoys the mental image of a shirtless Cal tearing his clothes with his bare hands more than he probably should, and he also enjoys the teasing glimpses of bare flesh whenever Cal moves.) There are claws attached to his fingernails, though at least two have already fallen off, and there's more fake fur sprouting from his wrists and chest. It almost looks as though he's bought a small rug, cut it to pieces and stuck it haphazardly to his body.  
  
"Put your teeth back in," Matt presses. "If I'm wearing mine, you're wearing yours." Cal gives him a look, so to prove his point Matt bares his fangs and even hisses for effect, immediately feeling silly, but Cal snorts and appears to relent. Matt prods absently at one of his pointed teeth with the tip of his tongue while he watches Cal grope around in his pocket.  
  
After much cursing and fiddling, Cal has reattached his four fangs and half-heartedly growled at Matt, whose stomach does a whole-hearted backflip at the sound. "Better," he says, and bites the inside of his lip to keep himself from grinning stupidly. He doesn't keep himself from looking Cal up and down, though.  
  
He never thought he'd be this attracted to Cal in a shit werewolf costume. His head is slowly filling with suggestive comments about biting, mauling, being taken in the night... On his third glass of white wine, he's not sure how much longer he can keep them all in.  
  
"Wonder what sort of damage you could do with those teeth."  
  
Not very much longer, apparently.  
  
Cal's laugh sneaks out from the back of his throat, and he looks away. "More than yours could."  
  
"Oh yeah? If I got anywhere near your neck, I'd have you. _Or_ , or," Matt held up a finger and leaned closer in a secretive fashion. "The femoral artery."  
  
Cal snorts again. "You what?"  
  
"Femoral artery. Inner thigh. It's huge." Matt shifts to stand in front of Cal, leaning on one leg. He nudges the inside of Cal's knee with his own, pushing his legs apart just a little. He wants to run his hand up the inseam of Cal's jeans, feel the relaxed muscle, the hidden warmth. His voice is low. "See, if I got anywhere near your inner thigh..."  
  
Cal is smirking. "That supposed to be sexy, is it?"  
  
Matt feels his cheeks heat up again, but he carries on regardless. "Don't interrupt. If I got anywhere near your inner thigh, I'd slide my palm along it so I could feel the rush of blood. That's a thing I can do, I can feel the blood in you, more than just the pulse - it's the _flow_. I'd make sure you were stood up, resting back against the wall, with your legs spread and knees bent. I'd bite down and I'd drink until your eyelids were heavy."  
  
Now Cal's eyes are alight with a level of interest belied by his words. "That's a bit better."  
  
\----------  
  
The friendly debate doesn't stop even when they're locked in the bathroom together.  
  
"You'd still lose, though," Cal murmurs against Matt's throat, teeth - real teeth only - grazing the skin. His fake sideburns tickle Matt's jaw.  
  
"Oh-- oh, right...?" Matt's breath hitches, fingers buried in Cal's too-short hair.  
  
"I've got teeth, and claws. And strength." Cal slides his hands along Matt's arms to his wrists, pressing them back against the wall. He grins into Matt's skin. "I'd just pin you down, rip your nice tidy clothes. Get you into submission."  
  
Matt groans and sags when he feels the tip of Cal's tongue lap at the hollow of his throat. "You're not doing too badly with that last one..."  
  
The laugh Cal gives is the filthiest thing Matt's ever heard, to the point where he's almost _thankful_ when Cal reaches his mouth and kisses him hungrily. He flexes his hands helplessly in Cal's grip, enjoying the restriction more than he'll let on.  
  
Suddenly, Cal breaks away, grimacing and swiping at his lips with the heel of his hand. "That face paint tastes fucking disgusting..."  
  
Matt reaches out sideways and fumbles for the toilet roll with his free hand, cardboard rattling against plastic as he yanks too many sheets towards himself to rather frantically wipe the face paint and smeared fake blood from around his mouth. Dropping the crumpled paper, he seeks out Cal's lips again for an eager kiss. He undoes the button of Cal's jeans and slips his hand past the waistband before the younger man can grasp his wrist again. When Cal gives a soft moan, Matt murmurs against his mouth.  
  
"I think vampires are faster than werewolves..."  
  
\----------  
  
"What's the verdict, Cal?"  
  
"You what?"  
  
"Werewolf versus vampire. You've been asking everyone."  
  
Matt buries his face in his wine glass to keep himself out of the conversation, giving Cal a sidelong look. His refreshed face paint hides his blushes once again.  
  
Cal grins widely at his fellow partygoer, fake fur sideburns now just barely hanging onto his cheeks and all but a few specks of white face paint successfully wiped from his face. Matt doesn't suppose he put as much effort into wiping it from the skin of his inner thighs. At any rate, Matt thought with substantial pleasure, the heavy, teeth-shaped bruise he'd left there wasn't going anywhere.  
  
"Werewolf," Cal responds to the other man, ignoring Matt's sudden indignant protests. "No fucking contest, mate."


End file.
